


Metamorphosis

by LadySokolov



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Bruce Wayne, Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Sex in a Car, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 09:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13678503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySokolov/pseuds/LadySokolov
Summary: Bruce's life has changed. His fantasies about John Doe change along with it.





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day everyone! To be honest this isn't exactly 'romantic'.  
> It's porn. Nothing but porn. Enjoy. ;)

Something had changed.

Well, perhaps it was more accurate to say that, to Bruce Wayne at least, it felt like everything had changed. Bruce’s relationship with John had changed. The way that he interacted with John and with the world around him had changed. Bruce’s whole life had changed. Now there was another person living with him and Alfred in the manor and going on patrol with him at night.

There was one thing that changed that Bruce hadn’t anticipated however, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it when it did.

* * *

The first time Bruce had masturbated while thinking about John had been after meeting John at the Stacked Deck, and the raiding of Wayne Enterprises that had followed. He had stolen a few minutes in the privacy of the Batmobile, one hand tugging furiously at his dick while the other smothered what noises threatened to spill out of his mouth.

In his fantasies John was pliant and submissive. Bruce laid him down in the back of the Batmobile and covered him in kisses. John laughed and held him close and smiled up at Bruce, making Bruce feel like the most wanted man in the world.

Bruce felt vaguely dirty afterwards. It wasn’t enough that he was betraying John’s trust and using him to get to the Pact. Now he was imagining him sprawled beneath Bruce, moaning and whimpering and begging as Bruce made love to him.

After he had come with John’s name lingering on his lips, Bruce had managed to convince himself that it had been a one-time thing. Bruce’s needs as far as self-pleasure were fairly low, so the few frantic, desperate minutes of weakness in the Batmobile had been unusal as it was. He was not going to think about John in that way again.

* * *

Of course Bruce had been wrong. It had been only a matter of days before he found himself tugging on his dick again, and again it was John’s name that threatened to spill from his lips.

Bruce liked to think that he had been reasonably successful at hiding his feelings for and attraction to John when he was actually around the other man, but there were so many moments away from John, when all that Bruce could think about was John’s smile, or what he would look like, stretched out beneath Bruce, all pale and pliant and willing, and the next thing Bruce knew he was shoving his hand down his pants and trying not to scream John’s name.

In Bruce’s fantasies he made love to John until John could barely breathe or think, slowly breaking him apart with nothing but pleasure, thrusting in and hitting his prostate, and he would reach out and stroke John until John was coming in Bruce’s hand and shaking beneath him. The thought of John screaming Bruce’s name as he orgasmed was almost always enough to send Bruce over himself, muffling his own cry of John’s name with a pillow or his hand as he did.

It wasn’t as though Bruce was afraid of anyone hearing him; usually there was no-one else in his bedroom or the Batcave or his car when he gave into the urge to touch himself and think of John; but he never stopped feeling guilty about what it was he was doing, and who it was he always thought about when he came. There was something about it that just felt so wrong. He wanted John. There was no denying that now. And John didn’t seem like the sort of person who would be upset over something like that, but there was still something that didn’t feel right; something that didn’t fit, and which always made Bruce feel like a terrible person after the act.

And so he would muffle John’s name as it spilled from his lips, keeping it a secret, just like the quick and guilty sessions in his bed or shower or car, and vowed that, just like the sessions themselves, no-one was ever going to find out exactly who he had been thinking about when he touched himself.

* * *

It went on like that for a while before the change actually happened, or began to happen. There was one night in particular that Bruce could point to; the same night on which everything else had changed.

He and John came clean with each other, secrets spilling from them both and all masks and pretenses vanishing, leaving them both raw and open and vulnerable and honest in a way that Bruce didn’t think he had ever truly been with _anyone_ before, not even those who already knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were one and the same person. Because they _weren’t_ , not really. They were both just masks, and John had been the only one who had ever really understood that. Bruce wondered if perhaps John Doe understood him even better than he understood himself.

The trust and openness and dependence were intoxicating, and Bruce couldn’t get enough of them.

The first time he had seen John in his vigilante get-up Bruce had temporarily forgotten how to breathe.

That night he had taken himself in hand, picturing John, as he always did, but that time, for the first time, he had imagined that John was the one in control. He thought of John pushing him down into the bed, biting and clawing at Bruce’s skin. He imagined John thrusting inside of him. He would be gentle. Of course John would be gentle with Bruce, gentler perhaps than he was with anything else in his life, because Bruce was one of the few things John really cared about.

John would hold Bruce down though, and Bruce would let him. He would let John hold him and pull him apart, piece by tiny peace, until nothing of Bruce was left, and everything was John, John, John, and Bruce didn’t have to think anymore.

This time Bruce didn’t have to worry about hiding John’s name as he came. All that managed to emerge from his throat was a breathless whimper. When he came back to himself he realized that he had been crying.

* * *

Their dynamic had been irreversibly altered, and Bruce knew that it would be impossible for them to go back to the way that it once had been. He wasn’t sure that he wanted it to either. This new way of existing alongside John, of being able to see the other man as his _partner_ rather than as someone Bruce needed to help and protect, was enthralling, and so unlike any relationship he had ever had before.

They understood one another, and there were no secrets anymore. It really did feel as though they were entwined these days; truly the two threads in the same stitch that John liked to compare them to.

Bruce wondered sometimes whether John knew that Bruce fantasized about the two of them having sex. If John did then he never said anything about it, which was probably a small mercy.

Sometimes Bruce imagined the two of them fucking in costume, and that brought a whole new pile of psychological messes that he knew he should probably think through when he could find the time. He imagined John in his vigilante get-up, climbing on top of Batman and kissing him soundly, red lipstick smearing across both of their faces; John pushing Batman up against a wall and taking him; purple against black; smears of red lipstick and white face paint on black kevlar.

Bruce had never even considered the idea of someone dominating _Batman_ before. Bruce Wayne sure, but Batman was a symbol; strong and indomitable in a way that Bruce Wayne wasn’t. Batman didn’t give into people.

But Bruce wanted Batman to give in to John Doe so badly.

He wanted nothing more than for John to take control. For him to demand that Batman kneel at John’s feet and worship him, and oh god, Bruce wanted to worship John so badly. He wanted John to use Batman in whatever way he saw fit.

He shouldn’t want that from anyone, and certainly not from John. After all, John was trying to be better, and he really had turned over a new leaf, but he could still be violent and unpredictable. John being in charge should have been terrifying, but instead the mere thought of it never failed to cause a sharp pang of desire in Bruce.

* * *

Sometimes Bruce wondered if his desire for John was not as one-sided as he had always assumed. John had always been almost inappropriately friendly, and Bruce didn’t want to mistake what might only be a simple, honest desire to connect for the same desperate lust that had been torturing him for the past few months.

Sometimes though, he would allow himself to wonder if all the winking and raised eyebrows and gentle touches from John really did mean that John was just as interested in Bruce as Bruce was in him. He had seen John around someone that he loved; had witnessed the other man’s awkward, misguided attempts to woo or assist Harley, and knew that they were a far cry from the confident and charming manner John usually maintained when he was around Bruce.

Still, he couldn’t help but hope.

Did John’s touch linger just a little too long? Had John intended the sexual innuendo in the last sentence that he’d said? Did John mean for his eyes to meet with Bruce’s? Did he know how incredibly sexual the way that he was sucking at his straw was to Bruce? Or did Bruce just have an overactive and rather filthy imagination when it came to John?

It was probably the last one. Bruce knew that he should probably just calm the hell down and learn how to exist alongside John without fantasizing about him.

He supposed that he could have asked John whether his feelings were returned, but the odds of John rejecting him again seemed a little too high for his tastes. No, it was better to live in denial, not knowing, but still being able to find some solace in hope than to have his heart broken.

John’s behavior certainly didn’t change in any way that helped Bruce with his frustrations. In fact as time progressed Bruce began to notice that John had started to sneak more and more sexual innuendo into their conversations.

“That last fight had my heart pounding,” he would say, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder and leaning in and grinning, and Bruce was sure that somehow John knew that he was blushing, even with the cowl hiding his face.

“How are you doing Brucie?” he would purr, leaning in close, presumably under the pretense that no-one but the two of them was allowed to hear Bruce’s name. “It certainly gets the… er… blood pumping doesn’t it?”

And sometimes Bruce would have sworn that John would glance down, to Bruce’s crotch, which thankfully was well-armored and more than capable of hiding exactly how much the combination of the aforementioned fight and John’s words and touch had ‘gotten his blood pumping’.

* * *

Sometimes when Bruce touched himself he would find himself wondering if John was doing the exact same thing in another room of the house. He would imagine that he could hear John’s cries as he worked himself into a frenzy over whatever fight the two of them had been in most recently.

He would try to imagine what John would look like, tugging at his own cock, would imagine John breathing out Bruce’s name as he came. He wondered how John imagined the two of them coming together, whether he would want Batman on his knees in front of him as Bruce sometimes imagined, or whether he would have preferred Bruce’s older fantasies and would rather give himself over in submission to Bruce.

There had been one particularly guilty session when he had been working alone in the Batcave after John and Alfred had retired. John had been even more hands-on than usual, touching and grabbing and flirting with Bruce so much that Bruce had been an awkward mess of nerves and lust by the time the mission was over.

Bruce told himself that he had gotten too worked up and that he needed to calm himself down. He resolved to wait until he had finished sorting out a few last details of their current case before he indulged in what was undoubtedly going to be a frantic, desperate round of taking himself in hand while he thought about John.

Then one stray thought passed through his head. He was all alone in the Batcave at that moment, and he found himself wondering if John had ever been all alone in the Batcave too and had been gripped by the urge to…

Bruce’s mind provided an image of John sitting at the very same chair that Bruce was currently sitting on. In Bruce’s fantasy John leaned forward, tugging on his cock and biting back on a scream. It was enough to make Bruce’s cock immediately spring to attention, and then there was no going back.

He tried to tell himself that it was a real thing that he was imagining; that John had sat right here, and touched himself while thinking of Batman. Bruce tried to touch himself the way that he imagined John would touch himself; all fire and desperation and need. He told himself that he needed to be quiet, but in the end the only thing that stopped him from screaming out John’s name as he came was his teeth biting down on his bottom lip so hard that they drew a couple of tiny spots of blood.

* * *

A few months after John and Bruce had started to work together, things changed again.

There hadn’t been anything particularly unusual about the case itself. Bane had broken out of Blackgate Prison and it had taken all that John and Bruce had to finally take him down.

They had fled the scene as soon as the G.C.P.D. had shown up, leaving Bane in the care of Gordon and his men and leaving a small trail of their blood behind them as they scampered away and took refuge on a nearby rooftop.

Bruce could feel at least one fractured rib, and he had gained more new bruises than he could possibly count. John was doing only slightly better, with a nasty cut over one eyebrow and a bloodied nose that had started flowing again as soon as the two of them had grappled away from Bane’s now unconscious and restrained form.

Bruce flopped against the short wall that ran all the way around the roof of the building. John wordlessly agreed that they should stop and rest up a bit, claiming a patch of wall that ran perpendicular to Bruce’s own.

Bruce found himself staring over at John. The other man’s hair had lost its usual shape during the fight, several curls now hanging down over John’s face. Blood trailed down from John’s nose and over the lower half of his face, the red mingling with the color of John’s lipstick until Bruce could no longer tell which was which.

“Like what you see Batsy?” John asked, raising one eyebrow at Bruce.

John was still breathing heavily, his chest heaving, his mouth open and sucking in deep, needy breaths.

What was also visible, with very little effort, was the bulge in John’s pants. Bruce wasn’t entirely sure when that had happened; whether it was the result of the fight against Bane, or something that had happened up here on the roof, but he didn’t care. What mattered was the fact that it was there, and John was doing absolutely nothing to hide it.

John caught Bruce staring, and grinned over at him as he wiped some of the blood and lipstick off his face, smearing as much of it as he actually removed.

Bruce didn’t think he had ever been more turned on in his entire life.

John’s eyes met with Bruce’s and then he smiled, the corners of John’s lips turning up and reaching a width that would seem uncanny and unnatural had that smile been on anyone else, but on John it just made Bruce’s pulse speed up.

That grin completely destroyed any ounce of self-control that Bruce might have had left. He couldn’t take it anymore, and he threw himself at John, slamming his lips against the other man’s in a desperate clash.

John let out a startled cry, and then he was kissing back, his hands grasping at Bruce’s cowl and cape and pulling him in closer, deepening the kiss. Bruce could taste the other man; his blood and his lipstick, as well as some other, deeper tang that was just part of John. The knowledge that it was John that Bruce was kissing, that John was just as hard and desperate and horny as Bruce after that last fight, was the headiest drug and the most potent aphrodisiac that Bruce had ever experienced.

Bruce realized that his hands were shaking. He moved his arms around John. He had intended to caress John’s back, or run his fingers through John’s hair, but in the end all he could do was clutch the back of John’s jacket and hold on for dear life.

Bruce wasn’t used to this; wasn’t used to feeling so out of his depth. When it came to all the women that he wooed as ‘playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne’ he never had any trouble taking the lead, sweeping women off their feet and thoroughly seducing them. He wondered then if any of the women that he had seduced ever felt like he did in that moment with John on the rooftop; like he didn’t know which way was up anymore, and like he would do anything at all; anything that John wanted as long as John didn’t stop kissing him.

Luckily John had taken up the lead where Bruce failed, and soon Bruce felt like the other man was devouring him. John gently grabbed the back of Bruce’s head, and tilted it back, deepening the kiss and making Bruce feel like he was melting, turning into putty in John’s hands.

Bruce moaned loudly and kissed back, every ounce of restrained passion he had ever felt for John taking him over and resulting in nothing more productive than shaking hands and desperate, wordless moans.

John sighed happily as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Oh Bruce, buddy, yes,” John whispered, his lips still so close to the corner of Bruce’s own that Bruce could feel them brushing against Bruce’s lips as John talked. “Yes. Oh, at long last. Yes.”

John held Bruce tight as he moved in for more kisses. He placed them all over Bruce’s face; on his lips and his cheeks; on every inch of skin that Bruce’s cowl left exposed, and some on top of the cowl as well, leaving bright red lipstick on black kevlar, just as Bruce had always imagined.

Bruce had to remember how to stay standing. He wanted nothing more than to collapse against John; to surrender completely to him beneath the barrage of kisses, until nothing existed but John’s mouth, and the sweet, beautiful words that John was whispering to him.

“Yes, oh god yes Bruce,” John murmured between kisses, his lips pressed lightly against Bruce’s lips or ear. “Don’t worry about anything Bruce. I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to take such good care of you. I’m going to be so good to you. So good. Oh yes. Bruce…”

They were the most beautiful words that Bruce had ever heard. In that moment he would have done anything at all for John; anything that he asked.

They stayed on the rooftop for a long time; simply trading kisses, before the sudden wail of a nearby siren caused John to pull back from the kiss.

Bruce whimpered and leaned closer to John, trying to get John’s lips to press against his own again, but John held up a hand to Bruce’s mouth, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“We should move,” he told Bruce. “Get somewhere more… comfortable.”

His voice was deep with lust. It made Bruce’s heart skip a beat and his cock stir.

“All right,” Bruce replied, his voice breaking even on those two simple words.

John grabbed hold of Bruce’s hand and pulled him over to the side of the building, where they moved away from one another somewhat reluctantly.

They made their way back to the Batmobile side by side, and as soon as they were inside the vehicle and Bruce had instructed the car to take them back to Wayne Manor, John climbed on top of Bruce, settling in his lap and pinning him against the driver’s seat with another desperate kiss that left Bruce’s head spinning.

For a while it seemed that there was nothing in the world but John Doe, just as Bruce had always wanted. Just John’s taste and his touch and Bruce was so, so glad that the Batmobile could drive itself back to the manor, because he was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything at all in that moment; anything that wasn’t John’s mouth devouring him, and the sweet sighs and whispers that left John’s mouth.

“Yes Bruce, yes,” he kept sighing, right against Bruce’s ear. “So good. More. You and me Bruce. Just you and me.”

He didn’t know whether John was praising him or promising what was to come. He didn’t care.

It occurred to at least a small part of Bruce’s scrambled mind that this probably wasn’t healthy; he was Batman, he needed to be aware and he couldn’t let himself get caught up in a relationship this overwhelming; but the rest of him knew it didn’t matter. He had been John’s ever since the other man had saved his ass in Arkham. The only thing that had really changed was that Bruce didn’t have any reason to deny it anymore.

Eventually Bruce surfaced enough to realize that the car had stopped and that the two of them had made it back to the Batcave. He wasn’t sure how long they had been there already, but knew that it was only a matter of time before Alfred would come to greet them. He knew that he and John weren’t going to be able to make it all the way back upstairs and to a more private setting; not with how much fire was already coursing backwards and forwards between them. It was going to happen, right there in the Batmobile and Bruce wasn’t sure there was anything that either of them could do to stop it.

Not that he wanted to stop it. He felt amazing. He never wanted it to end.

It was with great reluctance that he pulled back from John and contacted Alfred through the cowl’s speaker.

“Alfred don’t…” Bruce began, gasping when John moved his mouth lower to kiss at the corner of his face.

“Don’t come down here for a while okay?”

“Is everything all right Master Bruce?” Alfred asked.

Bruce had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from moaning as John ground against him, hard enough that Bruce could feel the pressure of it through the Batsuit and in his very bones.

“Everything’s fine,” Bruce somehow succeeded in saying, despite the fact that his ability to speak was being thoroughly impeded by the gentle sucking John was doing at the corner of his mouth. John’s leg was rubbing between both of Bruce’s own as well. Bruce couldn’t feel the press of John’s knee against his crotch, but that didn’t stop him from hardening inside the Batsuit. God, he wanted John so badly.

John pulled back from the kiss and moved a little, so that his mouth was hovering right over the communicator in Bruce’s cowl.

“I’m just going to be keeping Bruce busy for a little bit, all right Al? I promise I’ll take extra good care of him.”

There was no way that Alfred would have been able to miss the sensual purr in John’s voice. Bruce heard Alfred splutter a little before the line cut off. At least Al wouldn’t be stumbling into the Batcave and interrupting them any time soon.

John’s mouth reattached itself to Bruce’s as soon as the call had ended, swallowing the moan that Bruce let out. Bruce felt as though the whole world was spinning around him. Something strange was happening to him that meant his sense of balance had been thrown off, and when he finally managed to open his eyes again he discovered that John had reclined the driver’s seat, and Bruce was now lying horizontally, John still on top of him, pinning him in place.

John pulled back, hovering over Bruce as though surveying the mess he had already made of him. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and then he was shrugging off his jacket and pulling off his tie, shedding his clothing with almost reckless abandon and throwing them to the other side of the vehicle.

Bruce’s hands shook as he reached up to remove the cowl. Once that was dealt with he moved on to the rest of the Batsuit, cursing as he did.

Taking off the Batsuit had never seemed more difficult and Bruce had never felt more clumsy doing so than he did in those moments. Eventually John had removed almost all of his own clothing. His shirt, unbuttoned but not removed, was the only item of clothing left on him, and it hung over an expanse of mesmerizingly pale skin that Bruce’s eyes kept returning to.

John stared at Bruce, still only half out of his costume, and sighed before he moved to help Bruce out. The Batsuit wasn’t easy to remove in such close quarters, but between Bruce and John they managed it, while all the while Bruce struggled to look anywhere that wasn’t down at John’s cock, which was standing perfectly erect between his legs, and which occasionally brushed against the suit or Bruce’s skin as they removed Bruce’s costume and the clothing beneath.

“Need more,” John muttered, fingers darting over Bruce’s skin as he worked. “More you. More warmth…”

When Bruce was finally lying naked beneath John the man on top of him sat back and admired Bruce’s naked form for all of two seconds before letting out a long, loud groan and descending on him, hands roaming all over Bruce, his mouth latching onto a spot on Bruce’s shoulder.

Bruce’s chest ached as John’s weight pressed against his own without the protective layer of the Batsuit between the two of them. He knew that they should probably both have their injuries seen to before they went any further, but he also knew that there was no way in hell that anything or anyone would be able to pull them apart. Not now.

John was displaying the same desperate hunger that had been building in Bruce over the last few months, and Bruce wondered if John had fantasized about this as many times as Bruce had.

“Did you ever think about this?” Bruce whispered as John’s hands clutched at his hips.

John let out another groan and ground against Bruce, their hard cocks pressing against one another and sending a shudder of pleasure down Bruce’s back. Oh god, he was in heaven.

“So many times,” John confessed. “Sometimes it’s all I can think about.”

There was another thrust, and Bruce realized with only a small amount of embarrassment that it would be incredibly easy for him to finish just like this, with John moaning and thrusting against him. In fact, if John kept it up for much longer than Bruce was sure that he would.

“I want you John,” Bruce whispered, hands clutching at John’s back and trying to pull him back down, despite the pain. “Want you inside me.”

John let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a cry of pure pleasure, and arched against Bruce, his hips bucking wildly. He took a moment to get himself back under control, taking a few deep breaths while Bruce simply lay back beneath him, marveling at the beauty on display above him.

John looked absolutely wild. His hair was a mess and his makeup even more so, and Bruce wanted him so badly it hurt.

John murmured something that Bruce didn’t catch, but which sounded like a curse, and the next thing Bruce knew he was rummaging around in the pile of clothing and equipment they had discarded earlier.

When John returned he was holding a small bottle in his hand, and when Bruce realized what it was he felt his breath catch. It was a small bottle of oil; usually used to service or clean their equipment in the field, but in this context and knowing what John undoubtedly intended to do with it, it was enough to make Bruce whimper and writhe as John returned to the driver’s seat.

“Roll over Bruce. Please?”

John whispered the request, and Bruce couldn’t comply fast enough.

Bruce tried to be still for John, he really did, but it was impossible not to writhe in pleasure against the chair; not when John’s hands caressed Bruce’s rear so perfectly, and not when a couple of well-oiled fingers pressed inside of Bruce, and began to stretch and prepare Bruce for what was to come.

John’s fingers occasionally brushed against Bruce’s prostate as he worked. Each and every time it happened Bruce cried out in pleasure and pushed back against John’s fingers, needing more but at the same time knowing it would take very little now to push him over the edge.

“Oh gosh, Bruce,” John muttered as Bruce writhed on his fingers. The exclamation should have sounded ridiculous in the circumstances, but it was so very John, and all it did was remind Bruce of who exactly it was that was about to fuck him.

He let out a whimper as John’s fingers retreated, but then tensed as he realized what was about to happen. There were a few seconds that seemed to drag on to infinity, in which Bruce felt far too empty and far too cold without John’s warmth pressed against his back or rear.

And then John was pressing inside of him, and John was leaning over him, wrapping his arms around Bruce and holding him so tightly that even though Bruce felt like he was falling to pieces, John was somehow able to keep him together and whole.

John thrust in and out slowly at first, keeping his body pressed against Bruce’s back as much as he could, leaving kisses on every inch of Bruce’s back and neck and shoulders that could be easily reached.

Bruce pushed back, needing more of John’s touch, and John’s kisses, and John’s cock.

It was just as good as he had imagined. Hell, it was even better, because John was really there this time; real and warm and solid; and Bruce could smell his sweat and hear his breathing and the soft, sweet things that he continued to whisper and pant against Bruce’s skin.

Most of what Bruce caught were variations of his own name, moaned softly or gasped as John was seized by a particularly delicious jolt of pleasure. There were other things though; instructions for the most part, as John took almost complete control of their positions and their pace.

Bruce let him. After all, it was all so very good, and it was so nice to just relax and give control over to someone else for once.

“Lift your hips up Bruce,” John soon whispered, and Bruce immediately complied as much as he was able while John was still thrusting slowly in and out of him.

John moved one of his own hands down and wrapped it around Bruce’s already leaking cock. Bruce let out a short, sharp cry of pure pleasure and fell forward onto his arms as John began stroking in time with each of his thrusts. It was so good. Too good.

“Oh Bruce,” John whispered. “Buddy, you’re doing so good. You feel so good.”

Bruce whined and arced up, pushing against the body on top of him, and shuddered, almost crying in pleasure and joy when John just responded by holding him tighter.

“Bruce come on,” John panted, right near Bruce’s ear. “Come on buddy. Let go.”

Bruce whined. The word ‘buddy’ probably should have never sounded as erotic as it did right then, coming from John’s mouth.

“Let go,” John whispered again, before gentle biting down on Bruce’s shoulder. “I want to hear you scream for me. Bruce.”

Bruce whined. He was so used to smothering John’s name, to having to keep this part of himself hidden away where no-one could see it.

“Scream for me Bruce,” John gasped and sobbed, sounding as though he was as desperate and as close to losing himself as Bruce was. “Please. Bruce…”

“John,” Bruce gasped out, little more than a whisper.

John’s hips shuddered, and Bruce heard the other man’s breath catch.

“John,” Bruce cried out again, a little louder, and this time John pressed a fierce kiss to Bruce’s shoulder in reply.

“John!” Bruce screamed as his partner held him close, hips thrusting out of sync and then stilling as John came inside of him.

“Oh god,” Bruce gasped as he felt his lover finish. John’s hand had stilled on Bruce’s cock, but it didn’t matter, not with the knowledge that John had just come inside of Bruce filling his mind.

“John, John, John…”

Bruce shouted like his life depended on it. Everything came down to the feeling of John around him and on top of him and inside him, his arms pulling Bruce closer, his warm breath and his lips leaving a moist trail over Bruce’s shoulder that felt so hot it might brand Bruce forever.

Bruce came with a scream, tears running down his face. It was all too much, too good. He felt like he really was falling apart in John’s arms and he loved it.

John held him through the whole thing, whispering sweet nothings that Bruce could barely make sense of in his delirium.

* * *

When Bruce came back to himself the first thing he heard was his own name, whispered almost reverentially between the kisses that John was placing on his shoulder.

Bruce tried to speak, tried to tell John how much he loved him, or how amazing John had just made him feel, but all that emerged from his throat was a low groan.

Bruce felt the warmth that had been wrapped around him pull back a little, and he opened his eyes to find John sitting in the Batmobile’s passenger seat; their clothing and equipment having been pushed out the now open door.

“You okay buddy?” John asked.

John looked genuinely concerned, almost afraid. In fact, he wore the same expression he usually did when he was afraid that he had taken something too far; had been too violent or reckless.

“I’m better than okay,” Bruce said, smiling gently at John. It was the truth. Bruce wasn’t sure he had ever felt as content as he had at that moment, at least until John had pulled away.

“Come back here?” he asked, holding his arms out.

John’s frown melted away, leaving behind a slightly unsure smile.

“Please?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, you have no idea how tempting that is Bruce,” John groaned, “but I can think of far more comfortable places than the Batmobile.”

That was promising, and Bruce found himself sitting up and paying very close attention to whatever it was John was going to say next.

“So what say you and I clean up a little, take care of our injuries and then we can do this all over again, except maybe er… maybe on an actual bed?”

There John was, actually being the sensible, responsible one for once. He held out a hand towards Bruce, as though offering to help him get out of the car. Bruce was afraid that he might actually need it. He wasn’t sure how well his legs were going to be able to support him at that moment.

“Yeah,” he said as he reached out to grab John’s hand. “That sounds amazing.”


End file.
